The grimoire opened its eye, and its field of perception spread from its leather cover.

It was in a roomy workspace, small gel-based creatures snoozing in open-sided lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The creatures were on fire, but seemed comfortable in the reddish flames illuminating the room. It was presently located on a worn wooden desk, which had many drawers and cabinets built into it. The walls were covered in bookcases, each one featuring a variety of other grimoires, which were made up of multiple different types of leathers, metals, and woods.

Most noticeably, there was a man standing above the grimoire, nervous blue eyes hiding behind round glasses. His grease-stained shirt had probably been white at one point and was mostly concealed behind a heavy brown apron, small tools spilling out of the pockets covering its surface. His curly brown hair flopped over his sweaty forehead, and his slender fingers were holding a writing quill, its roots gently glowing a dull blue. His other hand was fixed in a rather uncomfortable-looking gesture, small bands of light dissipating as he finished doing whatever it was that he had been doing.

Setting the quill down, he rubbed his hands together. "All righty, then. Let's see what we've got here." Popping his knuckles, he summoned a spark of light at the tip of his index finger. Holding it above the grimoire, he began moving his finger to the side, and the grimoire's eye followed it. Grinning, he extinguished the light and pulled a small paper notebook from one of his many apron pockets. "Okay, its eye follows light. Minimum of rank one already, that's good."

Leaning over the grimoire, he asked in a slow, clear voice, "Can you hear me?"

The grimoire didn't budge. It wasn't sure what was going on, but it had a feeling that allowing this man to know about its sentience was probably a bad idea.

With a frown, the man shrugged. "All right. Guess I don't need this one." Picking up the grimoire, the man moved over to a waste-bin, which had a small flame burning at the bottom. The grimoire's cover contracted as it tensed in shock and fear, and the man laughed. "Ha! I knew it!"

Moving back over to the desk and returning the grimoire to its place, the man jotted down another note. "Not only did the grimoire in question express fear regarding its imminent demise - rank four already, by the way - but it was being disobedient when I asked it the earlier question! That's a rank six autonomous at least!"

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

A sigh came from the back of the room, and the grimoire blinked in surprise. It hadn't noticed anyone else in the room.

A moment later, the grimoire rectified the thought as one of the books, a golden one with a white cover, toppled off of its place on the bookcase. Ink shot out from its pages as it whirred open, and the ink slapped into the floor in the form of three black tentacles. Moving over to the desk rapidly, the book ducked down and then shot upward, closing as it did, and landed neatly on the desk's wooden surface.

Glancing at it, eye wide, the grimoire almost missed the man's amused response. "Oh, come on, Soph, you've got be excited too!"

The grimoire next to it - Soph, evidently - sighed again. "Eddel, there's no reason I can think of for me to be surprised. I'm a Zannet rank nine, for crying out loud. A rank six autonomous, odd as that may be, is not of much consideration when compared to something like myself."

Eye flicking back and forth, the grimoire strove to figure out what was going on, and Eddel leaned closer with a frown. "Wait, I think it's trying to get my attention! Rank seven, haha!"

The grimoire somehow heard Soph roll her eye. "Once again, not very special compared to me."

He waved her away. "Oh, that's compared to you. It's not fair to do that. Besides, it's really interesting!" Leaning over the grimoire with a smile, he asked, "My name's Eddel Candlewick. I'm an Arcalibrologist, and this is my - wait, isn't there a procedure for..."

Bending down and pulling open a few drawers, he muttered to himself as he rummaged through the papers and rubbish contained inside. "Now where did I put the... there it is!"

Standing, he blew off the dusty sheets of paper and squinted, righting his glasses with one hand. "Right, here we are. Ahem!" Clearing his throat, he began reading to the grimoire. "Welcome to this world, autonomous grimoire A7U! My name is Eddel Candlewick - well, I already said that, so - anyway, this is insert shop name here, where you will be-" He paused, frowning. "Wait, I think I messed that up. Gimme a sec."

Flipping through the pages again, he smiled. "Right, there we are. This is Turning Pages, a grimoire shop. I make grimoires and prepare them for purchase and use, and a good portion of that involves figuring out everything I can about what exactly makes you tick. In your case, as an autonomous or free-thinking grimoire, I have to fully educate you on everything relevant to your type and subtype, which I'll get to later. In the meantime-" He folded the papers up and shoved them back in the drawer, wrinkling them further. Throwing his hands wide, he grinned. "Welcome to Careolis! I think you're gonna like it here!"